


Thalhkarsh's Good Deed

by Griselda_Gimpel



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Bodice-Ripper, Bodyswap, F/M, Farce, Gender Dysphoria, Illustrations, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Major Original Character(s), Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24700984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: The story of how Count Leslac's housekeeper set forth to seek her destiny and in doing so, led the demon Thalhkarsh to do a good deed. Transgender main character.
Relationships: Leslac/OC
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	1. A Curse Upon All Bards

**Author's Note:**

> A big shout out to https://slothday.tumblr.com/ for being my sensitivity reader. He was really helpful.

This is not the story of Countess Reine, and it is not, in principle, the story of Count Leslac, although he has an important role to play in the tale. No, this is the story of their housekeeper, and the adventure she undertook to seek her destiny. Her name was Jisalin. She’d named herself that, shortly before first taking employment with the Count and Countess. “Jisa” she took from the bastard daughter of King Randale, who’d married her way onto the throne at the tender age of fifteen. “Lin” was for her favorite aunt, Linwel, who was employed as a cook for the Countess Reine’s widowed brother-in-law. It was Aunt Linwel who’d written Jisalin the letter of recommendation to Countess Reine.

It was Count Leslac who’d handled her actual hiring, though. He largely ran the estate, what with Countess Reine being so on in her years when he was still so young. Jisalin had been worried he’d slam the door in her face. Too many people looked her and saw a ‘man in a dress’ rather than the woman Jisalin knew herself to be. But she’d promised herself when she’d taken her new name that she was going to be true to herself no matter what the world threw at her. And there _had_ been some confusion on Count Leslac’s part, but only because he’d asked her if she was a Spider-Priestess, and she hadn’t known what that was. Eventually, he’d told her “never mind”, and she’d gotten the job.

Jisalin hadn’t expected to find herself crushing on the Count. To be sure, he was certainly very handsome, with beautiful mahogany skin and hair and eyes the color of midnight. Clad in the finest silks and jewels his wife’s money could buy, he looked positively dashing. And his voice! Jisalin understood now what was meant by silver-tongued. He performed often at the estate, for his wife had married him as much for his songs as his looks. Still, she had rather thought herself entirely too sensible for such a predicament. She had thought wrong.

He never looked at Jisalin. She soon realized that it wasn't because of her nose, which was admittedly a mess. Nor was it because, in dressing to hide all the aspects of her body that felt "wrong" to her, she came off as rather frumpy. No, the reason that Count Leslac didn't look at Jisalin was for the same reason that he didn't look at any woman other than his wife. And that reason was because any time Prince Roald visited (which was often), the Heir would inquire loudly if Countess Reine was satisfied with married life. (To Count Leslac's palpable relief, his elderly wife always assured the prince that she was quite satisfied with her spouse.)

Prince Roald wasn’t in attendance at the festivities the night before Jisalin’s adventures began. There wasn’t any specific holiday to prompt the social gathering. It was just that it was such a lovely spring day that Countess Reine had invited her acquaintances over. As the sun sunk lower in the sky, the entertaining hall filled with the gray heads of old women, and as the night wore on and dinner was finished, Count Leslac found himself cajoled into doing a song or six.

Jisalin was tasked with ensuring the guests were well supplied with alcoholic drinks, a duty which couldn’t have suited her more. It was slow moving about the room, and she had plenty of excuses to dawdled. That meant that she could look and listen. Count Leslac was outlined against light of the fireplace, its flames reflecting off of the rubies Leslac was bedecked in, the harp he played, and the sword that hung above the hearth. The song Leslac was singing was from the Kethry & Tarma collection, but this one was not one that Jisalin had heard before. He’d referred to it as “Threes” at the start, and as he neared the end of the song, she moved closer to listen. He sang in Rethwellan, but having grown up close to the border, Jisalin knew enough to follow along.

_They strip the traitor naked, and then whip him on his way_

_Into the barren hill-sides like the folk he used to slay_

_And what of all the maidens that this bandit raped and slew_

_So as revenge the sorceress makes him a woman too_

_Three things trust above all else_

_The horse on which you ride_

_The beast that guards your sleeping_

_And your shieldmate at your side_

Her heart skipped a beat as Count Leslac ceased his playing and singing. After claps and cheers, he picked up another song from the same collection, about the liberation of Viden town. Jisalin had heard him do that one before, but even if she hadn’t, she doubted she would have been able to properly attend. In her head, the lyrics of “Threes” repeated themselves over and over again.

Eventually, the party ended. The guests left in their carriages for their own estates, and Countess Reine turned in for the night. Count Leslac collapsed on a pile of pillows on the couch, and Jisalin brought him a brandy. She didn’t leave after he’d taken the drink, and after an awkward pause, he raised eyebrow and said, “Hm?”

“Might I ask you a question, m’lord?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Are the songs you sing true?”

“Oh, well, true enough,” Leslac answered. “We Bards have to make a song about it, but the story is true.”

“Then Kethry really is a sorceress?” Jisalin asked eagerly. “Like real magic, not the stuff that the Heralds do?”

Leslac frowned. “Well, yes. I mean, such things aren’t possible _here_ , of course, but Rethwellan’s a whole different country.” He glanced at her and smiled. It was just the friendly smile that naturally charismatic people give, but Jisalin found herself blushing. She was grateful for the late hour and that the candles had mostly been put out.

“I wish there were people like Kethry in Valdemar,” Jisalin said softly. “If magic could be used to change one’s body…” She let the sentence trail off unsaid.

Leslac’s smile suddenly widened. “You should go to her.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” Leslac said. Setting down his drink, he sprung to his feet, his weariness forgotten. “You’re a lovely maiden with a cloud of unhappiness about her that must be lifted!” (Jisalin was sure she was beet red at _that_ declaration.)

“But I’m just a housekeeper!” Jisalin protested.

“Destiny cares not for such things,” Leslac proclaimed. He stroked his chin. “You’ll need supplies, a horse, and a sword. And breeches to wear under your dress, so you don’t cause a scandal while riding. Now Kethry can bespell-”

“Forgive me, m’lord, but I wouldn’t know where to find her.”

“She runs a White Winds school in southern Rethwellan,” Leslac said promptly. “Once you find her, she’ll bespell you. Hm, then the next thing will be to find a husband.”

“What!”

Leslac made a small bow. “My apologies. You’d prefer a wife?”

Jisalin shook her head vigorously. “No, I would like a husband. I just don’t want to get ahead of myself.” She’d been saving up money for a such a prospect, but she didn’t have anywhere near what she wanted in that regard.

“Nonsense,” Leslac said. “Now, the prince of Rethwellan is but a boy, but if you get yourself taken hostage by a monster, I’m certain a prince will show up and rescue you for your hand in marriage and half your father’s lands.”

“My father disowned me, and even if he’d hadn’t, he hasn’t got any lands.”

“Your hand in marriage alone, then. And let me think on the issue of a dowry.”

“And Kethry will really help me?”

“I don’t have the slightest doubt. Kethry’s never left a woman in need unaided, and Tarma’s like you.”

“What?” Jisalin was thoroughly taken aback. In her small world – which admittedly consisted mainly of the village she’d grown up in and the Count’s estate - she’d never known anyone like her, let alone a famous hero whom Bards sung songs about.

Leslac nodded earnestly. “Only she’s a Spider-Priestess. The order forbids her to know a man, and all my love songs were unable to move her. I imagine that’s why she took Kethry for a lover.”

“You loved her?” Jisalin whispered.

“Unrequitedly. Of course, that was before I met the Countess and discovered her to be so rich,” Leslac said, “in love.”

All of this information was a lot for Jisalin to take in, so she tried to focus on something more tangible. “I can’t imagine I could afford a horse.”

Leslac gave her a smile that made her heart flutter. “My dear, your predicament is the stuff songs are made of. You must set out to seek your fortune. Tomorrow morning, in fact.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“No question,” Leslac said firmly. “Otherwise, you’ll lose your nerve. If the hour weren’t so late, I’d set you on the road tonight. I can give you some of my old breeches; I don’t much wear scarlet these days anyway. Supplies, too. For a mount, please take Thistletoes. She was a wedding gift from the Ashkevron Manor. She’s the cleverest mare in the stable, but the Countess is too old to ride, and Thistletoes won’t carry me. She’ll get you where you’re going safely. Now, as for a sword.” Here Leslac broke off speaking. After a moment’s thought, he strode purposely over to the fireplace and took down the sword that hung there. Fishing in the umbrella stand by the entrance, he retrieved a sheath. Putting the two together, he handed the whole ensemble to Jisalin hilt first.

“I was married at the point of this sword, and then King Stefansen gave it to us as a wedding gift,” Leslac said. “It holds strong memories for me. When you have no more need of it, drop it down a well!”


	2. Only Worthy Causes

In the morning, Jisalin pulled on a green dress that billowed at the shoulders and sleeves, strapped the sword in its sheath to her belt, and packed a traveling bag with a few changes of clothes. Never before had she traveled long enough that she’d have to wash her clothes on the journey, but she was going all the way across Rethwellan, so she added a bar of soap to the bag and a line to dry the clothes on. She imagined she could dry them at night. To her bag she added a brush, a small knife, a fire-starting kit, a canteen she filled with water, and a small bowl. Leslac met her in the hall with a stack of breeches, all of them a brilliant scarlet. She threw the top one over her shoulder and put the rest in the bag. He had her follow him to the kitchen, where he’d had the cook provide her with trail supplies. Then he handed her a money pouch that clinked when she took it.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He nodded. “You’ll need it. And when you get rescued by your prince, what remains can be your dowry. The same for these.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out several strands of necklaces of small gold chain. “Wear these under your clothes. If you the money pouch runs out, break off a few links of one of the chains and sell them.”

Station and décor momentarily forgotten, Jisalin pulled the Count into a hug. “Thank you so much,” she whispered. Then she did as she was bidden and hid the necklaces under her dress.

“It’s nothing,” he assured her. “I’ll have my ear out for your adventures. I might just make a ballad out of it.” And as he bid her farewell and walked away, she heard him croon:

_Onward the maid went_

_Southward did she ride_

_Her trusty mount beneath her_

_And her sword at her side_

Jisalin smiled. Picking up her bag, she headed to the stables. The stable hand on duty directed her to Thistletoes, a mare that was all white except for brown markings by her hooves. The stable hand showed her how to saddle Thistletoes up and tie her bag back behind the saddle. Jisalin led Thistletoes outside and slipped on the breeches. It was then she discovered that she and Leslac were not the same size. The breeches fit quite tightly, and Jisalin found herself walking bowlegged to Thistletoes as she went to mount.

“Hey, there, Horsie,” Jisalin cooed at her. “Please be a good girl and let me get up on your back. We’re going to go south to find a sorceress. Won’t that be fun, huh?”

Now, it must be said that Jisalin, in addition to the limitations brought about by her breeches and the clumsiness that came with never having worn a sword before, had never ridden a horse in her life. Riding was for farmers and the highborn, and Jisalin’s family had been neither. Still, she made her best go at it.

And found herself on horseback facing the wrong way.

“Oh, dear,” Jisalin said as Thistletoes, who until that moment had been a perfectly placid mount, bolted. Jisalin lurched forward and had to grab her bag to stop from tumbling over the horse’s rear. To her horror, her sword slipped out of its sheath and started to fall. She made a desperate grab for it and to her surprise, managed to catch it before it was lost. However, she dared not put it away until she could find a way to secure it better, so she simply held it outright. Then she considered the rest of the predicament. The reins were tied loosely around the saddle pommel, so that wasn’t an issue. She checked the position of the rising sun and then reckoned their direction. To her delight, they were heading southward.

“Good girl,” she whispered to her mount as she held on for dear life.

\---

Brigand Beauregard Billings the Bad watched the main road that ran south toward Rethwellan. He was a dastardly bandit. He’d memorized the circuit schedules of the Heralds to ensure that none would come upon him when he was committing highway robbery. He swung his sword with no hesitation and had slain so many innocents. Today, he was mentoring one of the younger bandits, Robber Ritto Red the Rat. They lay on their bellies in the grass on the hill the ran along the side of the road. Their horses, fresh and watered, stood by out of sight. When a prospective victim came by, they’d be on them and after their target swiftly. Other members of the bandit gang were already mounted and hidden in the trees of the forest that ran along the other side. They’d pour out the moment they heard Beauregard’s signal.

There was a clop-clop of horse hooves on the road, and Beauregard watched as the rider came near. Ritto in turn watched Beauregard, waiting for the signal. Instead, Beauregard frowned. He pointed for Ritto to look. Turning, Ritto saw that the rider coming along the road was astride a white horse and clad in a mixture of green and red. Her dress was clumped up near her waist, her hair blew in her face, and her sword was out. Oddest of all, she was seated on the horse backward. Beauregard shook his head slightly and did not sound the signal to attack. The rider passed onward.

“Why didn’t we take her?” Ritto asked when she was out of earshot. “She was alone.”

“Herald,” Beauregard said. “Not on usual circuit, but definitely a Herald. Notice the color of the horse?”

“White,” Ritto said promptly. Beauregard had taught him that paying attention to details was important.

“Right,” Beauregard said. “Not a horse at all. A Companion. Just a smart and dangerous as the rider. That must have been why she sat backwards, so she could guard her Companion’s rear.”

“Her hair was in her face, though,” Ritto pointed out.

“Gift of Mindspeaking, I’d wager,” Beauregard said. “No need to see if she can just read our bloody thoughts. We’re lucky she clearly had somewhere to be, or we’d be in for it, no doubt.”

“I thought Heralds wore all white?” Ritto asked.

“They do,” Beauregard said, “but Healers wear green, and Bards wear red. She must be all three.” He gave a shudder. “We were lucky today, my lad.”

\---

Eventually, Thistletoes grew tired of a full-on run. She settled into a trot and a then a walk. Eventually, she stopped all together, and Jisalin clambered off. She went to return the sword to its sheath when she saw that there was writing engraved on the blade. Examining it, she saw that it read REMEMBER, TIL DEATH DO YOU PART.

“Can see why his lordship wanted rid of it,” Jisalin said to her horse. She sheathed the blade and used the ribbon from one of her packed dresses to tie the sword in place so that it wouldn’t fall out in the future. Thistletoes had stopped by a well – she _was_ a smart horse, Jisalin noted – so Jisalin ate a small lunch, fed Thistletoes, and cleaned up. Then she climbed onto Thistletoes back, facing the right way this time.

Thistletoes refused to move.

Jisalin shook the reins. She said “Yay!” She dug her knees into Thistletoes side. All to no avail. Finally, desperate to try anything, she shifted around in the saddle so that she was looking over Thistletoes’ tail once more.

Thistletoes immediately started down the road.

“So this is how we’re going to play it, huh?” Jisalin asked. Thistletoes whinnied as a reply. Since Thistletoes wasn’t running this time and Jisalin wasn’t having to hold the sword with one hand, she reached behind her and found the reins. When the road split, Thistletoes stopped and waited while Jisalin consulted the road signs. Then she tugged on one of the reins, and Thistletoes headed down the correct path. Jisalin smiled to herself. It was difficult, navigating backwards like that, but she could manage.

\---

The journey to the White Winds school run by Kethry was a long but fairly uneventful one, and after many days traveling, Jisalin found herself at the front door. She knocked. The door was opened by a woman wearing mage robes. At her side she wore sword, which Jisalin suspected was her famous geas-blade, Need.

“The sorceress Kethry?” Jisalin inquired.

“Speaking,” said the woman.

“Count Leslac sent me,” Jisalin began.

“Go away,” the woman snarled and slammed the door in Jisalin’s face.

Jisalin stared at the door in disbelief. Then she lost her temper. “I’ve been traveling for weeks!” she shouted. “I am not just going away. So I’m just going to wait here until you agree to help me!” Then she folded her arms across her chest and glared at the wood.

A candlemark passed and then another. Then the door was wretched open, and Kethry glared at her. “It seems,” she spat, “that you’re a woman in need. At least according to the stupid, useless hunk of metal that calls itself a sword. So come in, let’s get this over with.” She glanced passed Jisalin. “I’ll have one of the boys take your horse to the stables.”

Jisalin followed her inside. There was a great deal of children underfoot. Eventually, they made their way to a kitchen table, where they were joined by another woman.

“I’m Tarma,” said the second woman. Jisalin smiled warmly at her. Tarma spoke again. “Now what’s this fool minstrel want?”

“It’s not what he wants, it’s what I want,” Jisalin said. “He told me all about you two, about how you, Kethry, always help woman in need and how your wonderful lover here is a Spider-Priestess. I want you to do to me what you did to that traitorous guard who was causing all the merchant caravans to be attacked. I’ve always been a woman at heart; I want you to make me a body I feel right in!” She grasped for the words. "I want my hips to be wider and my shoulders to be narrower. I want to be shorter. I'd like to be able to bear children. And I want breasts! And, well, you know." She glanced pointedly downward as she said this.

Kethry and Tarma looked at each other.

“Which of us had the bright idea to say I was a Spider-Priestess?” Tarma asked.

“I don’t recall,” Kethry said.

“You mean you’re not?” Jisalin asked softly.

“Nope.”

“Wait…you’re impersonating a member of the clergy?”

“No! Well, I guess a little. Look, I just wanted the cursed minstrel to stop singing love songs under my window!”

Kethry cut in. “Rule of thumb: don’t believe anything Leslac tells you.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“So you don’t actually have a kyree familiar?” It was the first thing that came to Jisalin’s mind, which was rather in a whirl.

“That’s me,” Tarma said.

“You’re a kyree?”

“No, I have a kyree familiar.”

“But I thought Kethry was the sorceress,” Jisalin asked, now even more befuddled.

“I am,” Kethry said, “and I can help you, but I’ve got a major working with the White Winds tomorrow. Would you be able to wait around until after that? Unless you want to try trading bodies with Thalhkarsh.”

“Who?”

“Guess Leslac didn’t do a song about that one.”

“Probably for the best,” Tarma put in.

“Thalhkarsh is a demon,” Kethry explained. “It started with the traitorous guard. I didn’t actually change his body; that was just an illusion.” At length, she and Tarma related to Jisalin what had occurred, from the bespelled bandit to the demon Thalhkarsh. “So in the end, Thalhkarsh, who’d started with the body of a young god, ended up with a woman’s body. We left him in the care of priests of Anathei.”

“Oh,” Jisalin said when they had finished. It was a lot to take in. Much of it was behavior she would have never had expected from the heroes who had liberated Viden town. Yet here they were, confessing it with their own mouths.

“Bet if you chatted up Archpriest Nemor, he could arrange for you and Thalhkarsh to swap bodies,” Tarma said.

“You know, I think I will,” Jisalin said polietly. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“And if that doesn’t work,” Kethry said, “come back to see me, and I’ll help you out. By the time you get back, I should be recovered from the working.”

“That enough for Need?” Tarma asked.

“Once we give her directions to Nemor it will be.”

When that was accomplished, Jisalin collected her horse and set on. As she rode facing backwards in the direction she had been sent, she slowly shook off her shock. 

“I guess it’s as they say: never meet your heroes,” she told Thistletoes. “I’ll take my chances with the damned demon!”

\---

As night began to fall, Jisalin pulled up to an inn. She stabled Thistletoes and paid for a meal and a room. There was an open spot at the bar, and she took it. She smiled politely at the man next to her. By his robes, she guessed him to be a mage.

The man looked her up and down. “How much?” he asked.

Jisalin shook her head. “You have the wrong idea, sir. I’m on a quest.”

“Oh? What sort of quest?”

“I’m looking for the demon Talhkarsh,” Jisalin said. She hoped that that sound intimidating enough that the mage wouldn’t get any ideas. His reaction wasn’t what she was expecting.

“Really? I consort with Talhkarsh regularly,” the mage said. “Here, I’ll call him up right now.” Using the sauce from his dinner as the medium and his finger as a drawing utensil, he drew some geometric shapes on the bar counter and then intoned some magic words. There was a puff of smoke, and when it cleared, there was a small imp standing there. The imp was humanoid in shape but had violet skin, a set of bat-like wings, and horns. He was clad only in a simple, white loincloth.

“Talhkarsh at your service,” the tiny creature said with a bow.

“I think there must be some mistake,” Jisalin said. “The demon I’m seeking is supposed to be in the care of the priests of Anathei.”

The mage didn’t appear to be listening. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a miniature piano, only half a foot high. He set it down on the counter next to the imp. He prodded Talhkarsh with his fork, and the imp sighed and began to play the piano.

“Look,” the mage guffawed, “I’ve got an eight-inch pianist!” He leered at Jisalin. “I’ll bet you know something about that, eh?”

The imp Talhkarsh rolled his eyes and looked up at Jisalin. “You see what I’ve got to put up with?”

“You certainly have my sympathies,” Jisalin said.

The mage prodded Talhkarsh again. “Do a dance.”

There are times in everyone’s life where they act without thinking. For Jisalin, this was one of those times. She snatched away the mage’s fork and chucked it across the room, where it clattered somewhere on the floor.

“You,” she told the mage, “are an awful man, and you’re not worthy to summon a being such as this.”

The mage stared at her in shock. Then he said, “Whatever,” and made a gesture.

“Thanks,” whispered the imp as smoke started to envelop him. “I suspect the demon you want is Thalhkarsh. People get us confused a lot.”

“Thank you kindly,” Jisalin said. Then the smoke cleared, and the imp was gone. She turned back to her dinner, but she kept half an eye on the mage, giving him a proper stink eye, but he only drunk his beer for the rest of the evening.


	3. A Fool Cannot Help Being Still a Fool

Archpriest Nemor was a kindly man, and he greeted Jisalin on behalf of the priests of Anathei warmly. He led her to a small receiving room and bid a servant bring refreshments.

“How can I help you, my dear?” he asked.

“It’s about Thalhkarsh,” Jisalin said, making sure to pronounce his name correctly.

“Oh?”

“I was sent here by the sorceress Kethry. She tells me that Thalhkarsh is trapped in a woman’s body.”

“And much displeased with it,” Archpriest Nemor said, “for though he bears the form of a woman, he is adamant that he is still very much a male demon at heart.”

Jisalin nodded eagerly. “And I’m the same way, except the other way around. And not a demon, of course.”

“You are the victim of magic?”

“No, I was born this way. But I am hoping that magic might be the solution to our predicaments, both Thalhkarsh’s and mine. I want to ask him if he’d be willing to swap bodies with me, so that we could both be a lot happier.”

Archpriest Nemor’s face lit up as if by a divine light. His smile broadened. “Oh, yes! Not only is that doable, it will be perfect, just absolutely perfect. We priests of Anathei have been trying to persuade Thalhkarsh that he’d be happier living a life of virtue, but he has been recalcitrant. This may be what he needs to truly commit to the path of reformation. Please follow me.”

There wasn’t a lock on the door of Thalhkarsh’s room nor any restraints on him, but it was clear from his expression that he was very much a prisoner. Jisalin had gathered that Nemor was a mage as well as a priest, and it stood to reason that the bindings were magical in nature. Or possibly divine.

“What do you want today?” Thalhkarsh snarled. It was clear from his body language that the question was perfunctory, and he did not care for the answer. He sat down on a chair in the room and folded his arms across his chest. He wore a severe set of tunic and trews that amplified his displeasure. In spite of all of that, the body he currently inhabited was a fit for Jisalin’s wildest dreams.

Archpriest Nemor smiled tenderly. “To help you understand that good deeds are their own reward. This is Jisalin. Her situation is rather the opposite of yours, and if you’re willing, she’d like to trade bodies with you.”

Thalhkarsh’s eyes swept up and down Jisalin’s body. Then his shoulder shook with a sudden sob. “That’s not the body of a young god!”

“Well, forgive me for pursuing a career in housekeeping rather than divinity.”

“I expect that something could be done about the nose,” Archpriest Nemor added. Jisalin nodded. She’d tried to see a Healer after her falling out with her father, but the Healer had refused to treat her.

“Look,” Jisalin told the demon, “this body’s got a pickle and two eggs, okay? Is that not good enough?”

That only made Thalhkarsh sob harder. “I don’t want a body with a pickle and two eggs! I want a body with a penis and two testicles.”

“Er, that’s what I meant,” Jisalin said.

“You’ll have to make allowances,” Nemor whispered. “Demons can be rather literal minded. They’ll give you exactly what you ask for, not what you meant.”

“Okay, but what else would this body have?” Jisalin asked.

Thalhkarsh stopped his sobs. “A bathtub.”

“What? A bathtub would hardly fit in my breeches!” (What sort of place was the Abysmal Plane?)

“Or the long-lost library of mage-lord Urtho,” Thalhkarsh continued. “Mind you, I’d accept it if it did.”

“That also wouldn’t fit.”

“The writing could be very small.”

“Well, it doesn’t.”

“And there’s a not an octopus in there, is there? I wouldn’t want an octopus.”

“A…I don’t know what that is.”

“An animal with eight arms and a beak,” Thalhkarsh said promptly.

Jisalin tried to imagine that. She thought the animal would be rather top heavy with all those arms. Then again, maybe it used its feathers to help balance itself. “Whichever way, I can assure you that this body comes complete with one penis and two testicles, all in their proper locations.”

“Fine,” Thalhkarsh said with a huff. “It’ll have to do.” With some guidance from Nemor, Thalhkarsh and Jisalin agreed to exactly what they wanted.

“Excellent,” Archpriest Nemor said. “With how much you two want the trade, there’s plenty of ambient power at my disposal. And don’t worry, my dear, I will be transferring the bindings on Thalhkarsh along with his soul.” He instructed Jisalin to hand him her sword, explaining that Thalhkarsh wasn’t allowed to have weapons. He asked if there was anything else she wouldn’t want Thalhkarsh to gain possession of, and she said there wasn’t. (Before meeting with Nemor, Jisalin had transferred her gold necklaces to her bag temporarily.)

Jisalin wasn’t quite sure what Archpriest Nemor did then, but the next thing she knew, she was sitting in the chair, and Thalhkarsh was standing by the door. She looked down at her body and was greeted by the sight of an ample bosom. “It worked!” she cried.

By the door, Thalhkarsh stood up straight and began patting his new body down. He looked at Jisalin accusingly. “You were hunching! This-” He felt the body over and flexed the muscles. “I like this body!”

“I hauled a lot of bags of flour,” Jisalin said. “I’m glad that you’re satisfied with it. I like this body, as well.”

“A good deed is its own reward,” Archpriest Nemor told Thalhkarsh primly.

Thalhkarsh glared at him. “You’re a bastard.”

“You do not resent your new circumstances, do you?”

“No. But you’re still a bastard.” He turned back to Jisalin and looked her up and down again. Then he ripped off the dress that his new body wore, exposing his bare chest. “Care for a dalliance?” he leered.

“No,” Jisalin responded. “Nope, nope. Please don’t do that. Too weird.”

Archpriest Nemor sighed. “I see that he still has a way to go in his rehabilitation. Come, my dear, I’ll walk you out.” Nemor handed Jisalin back her sword. She tucked the sheathed sword and belt under her arm.

\---

Jisalin felt giddy as she left the priests. Using a bush for privacy, she changed into a dress and slipped back on her necklaces. The dress was too big on her now at the shoulders, so she put on a bodice to hold it in place. Then she mounted her horse backwards and set forth on the road. She hadn’t gotten very far, however, before she realized that she had no real destination in mind. She had her new body. She loved her new body. So what did she want to do now?

Count Leslac’s words came to her suddenly. If she could find a monster to abduct her, a prince would come to rescue her. She bit her lip and furrowed her brows. That seemed rather dangerous, even if she could find a monster; she hadn’t seen one once during her journey. Then she thought of the drunken mage at the inn and the imp Talhkarsh. She thought she could just remember what he’d done.

She found a patch of dirt by the road and recreated the geometric shapes that the mage had drawn. Then she intoned the words that he had intoned. There was a puff of smoke and the imp Talhkarsh appeared.

“For the love of all the gods, not the pianist gag again!” Then Talhkarsh looked up at his summoner. “Who are you, lady?”

“Jisalin. We met earlier, actually. I was the one looking for the demon Thalhkarsh. I found him.”

“Good for you!” Talhkarsh said. He dug in his ear as if looking for earwax. “You know, you really shouldn’t go about summoning demons, even little ones like me. That lout’s not the cream of the crop, but there were some precautions that he took that you didn’t see. Summoning me like this without a binding’s very dangerous.”

“Dangerous is rather what I want,” Jisalin said, “but thank you for the warning. I don’t intend to make a habit of summoning demons. One simply doesn’t do that sort of thing in Valdemar.”

“You want danger?”

“Not real danger,” Jisalin said. “The end goal is to get a husband.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It was advised to me that if a monster were to take me hostage, I might just find myself being rescued by a prince. Now, a real monster carries some real dangers with it, but I was hoping that you might be able to help me there.”

“What would you give me in return?”

“My sword.”

“It magic?”

“I don’t think so. But it was a gift from King Stefansen.”

“That would work.”

“In that case, noble Talhkarsh, will you pretend to be a monster who’s taken me hostage?”

“Aye, I can do that. All right, I agree.” He smiled up at Jisalin. Then he suddenly began to grow bigger. When he was seven feet tall, he stopped. Jisalin undid her belt and handed it along with the sword and sheath to him. He belted it around his waist. His horns and wings looked much more ferocious now that he was larger-than-man size. “Your horse good here?” he asked.

“Let me get her some food and tie the reigns so that she doesn’t wander off. And I’ll have to check on her periodically. I don’t know how long it’ll take for a prince to come.” After she had done that, she took off her riding breeches, as well. That was a relief; they still didn’t fit, just in a different way now. Then she returned to Talhkarsh. “I’m ready.”

He swooped one hand around her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. Then he set off with big powerful strides. By this point, Jisalin was used to navigating backwards, so she was able to tell right away that they were headed to the nearby town. When they were actually going through it, she made a good effort to kick her legs and scream convincingly. There were gasps and shocked faces as they passed. When they were through the town, Talhkarsh headed up to near where Thistletoes had been left, but not so close that she would be seen by any passing prince.

Talhkarsh set her down between two trees, and Jisalin saw that he’d snagged several lengths of rope from his romp through town. She stayed still while he used the rope to tie one hand to a branch of one tree and the other hand to the branch of the other tree. Then he did the same with her feet, tying them to the roots of the trees.

“Not too tight, are they? Wouldn’t want to cut off circulation.”

“They’re perfect.”

“Hm, now much do you like that dress?”

“It depends. Why?”

“I’m thinking some artful rips up the sides. Show off your legs some. And if I tear down the front a bit, it’ll display your cleavage quite nicely. Nothing gets a prince like cleavage.”

“Oh, go for it,” Jisalin said with a grin.

Talhkarsh laughed as he tore her dress in precise ways. When he was done, nothing untoward was exposed, but there was a suggestion that such exposure might happen at any time. “Remember to look frightened when His Majesty shows up.”

Jisalin got lucky. It turned out that a prince of Jkatha – a cousin of some sort to the Heir – had been passing through the next town over to the one that Talhkarsh had torn through. He’d received word of an imperiled maiden and come the same day. Talhkarsh made a good show of it, waving his new sword menacingly and snarling quite frightfully. Jisalin made sure to scream when she wasn’t ogling the prince. Eventually, Talhkarsh disappeared in a puff of smoke. Jisalin saw that Talhkarsh had actually just shrunk to his usual size and hidden himself in the grass, but the prince didn’t appear to notice.

The prince briefly introduced himself, cut away Jisalin’s bindings, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her off. Unfortunately, he carried her right over to where Thistletoes stood tied. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice. He tossed Jisalin down on the grass and began struggling to get his shirt off. Jisalin considered protesting that they should wait until they were properly wed but just as quickly decided that she wasn’t in any mood to wait, so she slipped off her underwear instead.

Her beau didn’t notice that, either. He fumbled at the ties of her bodice instead. Seeming to find that too difficult, he simply ripped the bodice open and then finished the work Talhkarsh had started on her dress, ripping it right down the middle, which left Jisalin clad in nothing more than necklaces of gold.

“Make love to me, my love!” she exclaimed. The prince obliged her, and Jisalin got to experience some very pleasant features of her new body.

Briefly.

Then the prince rolled over and fell asleep.

When Jisalin saw that he wasn’t going to wake, she sighed and got up. She cleaned herself up and put on a new dress and bodice. She put the breeches back on, as well. She examined her ruined outfit. She could easily repair the bodice; it just needed a new cord. She suspected she could save the dress, as well. She needed to take it in (and bring it up) anyway, so the tears could be repaired.

A puff of smoke beside her made her jump, and she saw that Talhkarsh – still eight inches tall – was standing on Thistletoes’ saddle. The sword she’d given him, now shrunk as well, hung at his side.

He glanced over at the sleeping prince. “Something the matter?”

Jisalin bit her lip. “He’s quite handsome,” she said dubiously.

“But he’s as thick as a stack of bricks?”

“Yes,” Jisalin wailed. “And a lousy lover.” She buried her face in her hands. “I should be happy. I should be grateful for the attentions of a prince. But I’m not!”

“Well, if you don’t want the prince, who do you want?”

“Leslac.” The word tumbled out of Jisalin’s mouth before she could think what she was saying.

“So why don’t you go to him?”

“He’s married,” Jisalin whispered.

“Ah,” said the imp. “Well, you have to ask yourself: how much do you want him?”

Jisalin took her hands away from her face. She kissed Talhkarsh on the top of his head, being careful to avoid his horns. “You’re right,” she said. “Oh, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” the imp said. “I rather enjoyed much of it. Tootles.” With another puff of smoke, he was gone.

Without a backward glance, Jisalin untied Thistletoes’ reigns and headed north. As she rode, she practiced her singing. She hadn’t sung since she was young, but Sun and Shadow was one of the songs she knew all of the words to. When, after her journey, she arrived back at Count Leslac’s estate, she stabled Thistletoes and then headed back outside. She couldn’t make Leslac love her, but she could make him know of her love for him. She went around to the window that was led to the master bedroom. And there she began to sing:

_Sunlight singer, morning's peer_

_How I long for what I fear_

_Not by my will are you here_

_How I wish I could free you_

_Gladly in your arms I'd lie_

_But I dare not come you nigh_

Before she could sing more, the window was flung open and Count Leslac leaned out over the edge of the sill. He was dressed head to toe in black, and all his jewelry was onyx and obsidian. He stared down her, mouth agape. In his hand was an onion.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Jisalin smiled up at him. “Jisalin. Your housekeeper. I made my fortune, but after I got the prince, I realized I didn’t want him. I want you. I know you’re married-”

“Nope, not anymore. The ol’ biddy’s dead. I’m in mourning now.” He brought the onion to his eyes. “I’m very distraught.”

“Erm, that’s an onion.”

“I’m so distraught I’ve confused an onion for my handkerchief.”

“What happened?”

“Natural causes!” Leslac shouted joyfully. His expression turned sour. “I had nothing to do with it. You can ask Prince Roald. He insisted on truth spelling me. Now come on up. I want to hear all about your adventure.”

Laughing, Jisalin ran inside and met Leslac in the foyer. He looked her up and down, not like a wolf sizing up his prey but like an artist admiring a masterpiece. “Kethry gave up what you wanted.”

“It wasn’t Kethry,” Jisalin said, “I had to barter with a demon to get this body.”

“Wait, wait,” Leslac exclaimed. “Let me get my notes.” He dashed to a cabinet across the room and dug out a journal and pen. He fumbled to get it open and then looked at Jisalin eagerly. “What’s this about a demon?”

“I trade bodies with Thalhkarsh,” Jisalin told him with a grin.

“Talhkarsh?” Leslac asked. “The little imp?”

“No, Thalhkarsh,” Jisalin corrected. “I did end up summoning Talhkarsh, though; he helped me woo the prince of Jkatha.”

“What? You summoned a demon?” Leslac hugged himself. “Oh, this is going to make such a ballad! Tell me everything.”

\---

As per tradition, the Count was supposed to be in mourning for a year, but a month later, Prince Roald became King Roald. Since he was too busy to come by and bother Leslac, Leslac gave a big speech about how one couldn’t grieve forever. He and Jisalin were married the next day, and Jisalin became the new Countess.

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
